


Practicality

by icearrows1200



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Parentlock, Post-TFP, fix-it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icearrows1200/pseuds/icearrows1200
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is not a practical man. Who he really is, though, is primarily known to John Watson: father, soldier, doctor. Impractical.





	

Out of practicality, John moves into 221B Baker Street. At neither location is his distance to the surgery an advantageous one and when cases are slow, he has Sherlock to look after Rosie. Sherlock-is tender with children, something not even Mrs. Hudson or Mycroft or Lestrade would ever believe; but John doesn't entirely care because there are things in life to which he'd prefer to be the only witness. It's endearing, it's precious. It hurts.

Besides, silence is perhaps the loudest voice he knows.

Little Rosie adores being spoiled and though John tries to be practical, seeing Sherlock (the brain  _and_ the heart) lift her to the sky like an angel and meet her tiny gaze...seeing  _that_ awakens something in John that he didn't know he had.

She grows as quickly as Sherlock and John return to a life of danger and thrills, as Sherlock deduces and solves with a speed and joy unprecedented and loses the need for a high of any other kind. John doesn't need to check. He trusts him.

And then, out of practicality, they turn John's upstairs room into a room for Rosie. She is old enough, now, to sleep in a bed instead of a crib (where did the time go?) and, out of practicality, John moves into Sherlock's room. There is nothing uncomfortable, nothing unnatural about such a situation. They have shared things before: a career, a flat, a life, a daughter, time and pain, fear and hope. So why is a bed any different, any more significant?

John tells himself this, and what he tell himself, he believes. But he doesn't believe that the familiar, bittersweet pang in his heart as Sherlock's eyes bat open each morning (when he does indeed sleep) is born purely out of friendship. Watching Sherlock do human things makes John feel a little more human himself. Waking up, brushing his teeth, drying his hair (working in meticulous amounts of product and ruffling it just so-)...All of these things- _most_ of these things-John has seen before, but as a part of a routine, the actions are far more intimate, for John is  _intended_  to see.

As Sherlock becomes the man he wants to be, so does John. A doctor, a soldier, father and friend: who he really is.

But he doesn't need to say who he really is because, as Sherlock sees it (knows it), he is fulfilled.

Out of practicality, Sherlock is a good man and unwilling hero, for it is who he really is. The days of transport, married-to-his-work and self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopathy are gone because above all, he is Sherlock Holmes: simultaneously the better and worse half of John Watson.

Out of practicality, they fall in love. Now, Sherlock has never been a practical man. He is vibrant, petty, ostentatious, extravagant, and beautiful. And yet, though John and Sherlock have loved each other for a very long time, falling in love is far easier (read: more practical) than indefinitely wondering "what if?" for all those sleepless nights where pillows are barriers and heartbeats are code. Falling in love is wonderful because, even though falling implies pain, they now know how to land. Painlessly.

Rosie wakes up. At three in the morning, she toddles her four-year-old self into their bedroom. Before John can struggle to his feet, Sherlock has sprung into action, leapt from bed, attention entirely devoted to the small figure in the doorframe.

John wants to join him, but fatigue suffocates his reflexes and makes his eyes lead-heavy; and as Sherlock carries her to the kitchen for a glass of water, John thinks, "How fine."

Though she is like Mary in her smile and John in her eyes, in her curiosity and love she is like Sherlock. And, John realizes as he starts to fall asleep once more, it makes him love him all the more.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Dad."

He kisses her on the forehead and a moment later, the blankets shift and Sherlock slides into bed beside him.

After a moment of hesitation, Sherlock whispers. "Goodnight, John" (Even though it's very nearly morning.)

"G'night, Sherlock," John says into his pillow.

After a silent beat, in which John is sure he can hear the thrumming hammer of his heart, Sherlock presses his burning lips to the corner of John's mouth.

John smiles and Sherlock slips silently under the covers, hardly a hairsbreadth from one another. If this were a movie, John thinks, the credits would roll right now. But they do not-for the greatest thing about life is that there is always more.

Sherlock is hardly a practical man. Contrary to popular belief, he does not do things because they are always of use to him. Finding use, being practical, tends to be a rather selfish act, and John knows that Sherlock is anything but.

He has, on multiple occasions, given his life for John, and would do it again should the need arise because John has  _given_ him life. And so, in loving him, in becoming Rosie's second father, in becoming a good man-he is simply returning the favor.

 


End file.
